


Mischevious Intentions

by Wawa_Boonliang



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wawa_Boonliang/pseuds/Wawa_Boonliang
Summary: Harry was dead and then he wasn't and honestly, it's all Death's fault. But, hey! If he can go back and right some wrongs and save some lives, all this madness might just be worth it.





	1. Now With New Flavors

Harry was dead. Well, sort of. Being the Master of Death confused things for him, slightly. He thought it was funny, the way he died. There was no fanfare, no epic battle, no adoring fans cheering for him on the sidelines of a bloody duel to the death, no tragic end involving muggles taking over the world, no sadistic plot. He was simply alive one moment, dead the next. That's what happens, Death told him, when you're four hundred and eighty-seven. He'd passed away in his sleep. Ginny had passed long ago, after giving him four beautiful children and watching them grow up with him. They'd both seen the next four generations attend Hogwarts where Harry had been Headmaster for over half a century. Then, Ginny had died from Dragon Pox. Harry continued with his Headmaster duties for another one hundred and seventy years, and he'd seen his youngest great-great-great granddaughter sorted into Slytherin.

Then, one night in late summer, the Great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, the Vanquisher of Dark Lords, Chief Mugwump, Order of Merlin First Class, He-Who-Has-Been-Hyphenated-Too-Much, fell asleep after gorging himself on Berty Botts Every Flavor Beans (now with new flavors!), and died.

Just like that.

It was so funny that Harry and Death ad a good laugh about it.

Being old had taught Harry many things. Firstly, that no one ever truly knows what "the greater good" is. He'd learned to be relaxed and just let things happen. But he'd also learned when to step in to keep things from going south. He learned the difference between guiding and manipulating. Harry still treasured the memory of Dumbledore, but he found that the old Headmaster had been an extreme manipulator. Harry might never found out what Dumbledore's true intentions were, but he'd long forgiven the old man for leaving him at the Dursley's. Heck, he and Dudley had made their peace centuries ago, when Daisy Dursley (Dudley's youngest daughter) was discovered to be a witch.

And now he sat looking over his life with Death by his side. And he found himself wondering what would have happened had he known, all along, what was going to happen. "You can find out, you know."� Harry turned to Death, having heard him speak. _"You_ are my Master. One cannot control the shadows without controlling the light. One cannot command Death leave without granting Life entrance. Two halves of the same coin. The Master of Death is the Dictator of Life. You can live, again, Master, should you wish it."�

"Ah, but I would miss your company, old friend,"� Harry said, smiling. Death had visited him often in recent decades. Death only smiled at this.

"And why would I not be allowed to come as well? After all, this body is purely an idea. I am everywhere, after all, you cannot stop death. No matter where Death is."� Harry found himself amused.

  "And what life would I return to?"�

"Yours," answered Death. "I find that four is a good number. What say you, master?"�

"I would keep my soul and mind as it is?"�

"Yes."�

"And my magic?"�

"Untouched, should you wish it."�

"I do, and I shall," Harry said, clapping his hands together eagerly. Oh, the trouble he could get into. He'd not been able to indulge much in childish whims now that he had so many people counting on him, but as a child? A four year old, no less. If Harry's memory served, that was before the Dursley's really started hating him, because it was before he showed signs of magic. True, he still lived in a cupboard, but they didn't beat or starve him like they had in later years.

Death held out a hand to Harry, and Harry took it, throwing his father's cloak about his shoulders and going off into the unknown with his friend.

This was going to be fun.

***1047***

Harry Potter woke up early, the day of his fourth birthday. A tiny snake sat on his chest, coiled up and looking directly at him. He had no idea what kind of snake it was. It was pure black, an inch and a half long, not even half a centimeter thick. The snake's eyes were smoky grey, and its tongue was a rosy pink.

_"_ _Death?"_ Harry laughed in amusement.

_"Yes,"_ hissed back the snake. " _What shall you name me_?"�

" _Taffy"_ � Harry said at once. Then he smiled, he hadn't known snakes could roll their eyes before then. " _Don't you like your name, Taffy?"�_

_"_ _Why Taffy?"�_

_"_ _You look like a little piece of melted Licorice Taffy."�_

_"_ _There are truly no words to describe you, Master,"�_ hissed the snake, though "Taffy" spoke with fondness. Harry picked up the little snake and held the little thing close to his chest. His cloak was still fastened around his neck, warm and cozy. The Elder Wand was in his holster, around his forearm. And the resurrection ring was on his hand. He briefly wondered about the copies of the Hallows in this reality.

" _What about Dumbledore's version of the Deathstick, and Voldemort's horcrux in the ring?"_ Harry asked Death. Then, he remembered something: he was a horcrux still, wasn't he? He closed his eyes and focused on his magic.

Colors, invisible to everyone but he and Taffy, flared up around him. Splashes of every color imaginable wove in a netting of magic that covered him like a blanket. Only, there was one piece that didn't belong. Harry reached out to it with his own magic, and began to feed it with pure power.

" _Are you sure that's wise?"_ � asked Taffy?

" _Not in the least_ â€� said Harry cheerfully. _"But it will certainly be interesting, don't you think, Taffy?_

_"_ _Oh, most definitely, Master"�_ came the reply. _"_ _And to answer you, Master, Dumbledore will find, when he wakes up, that the Deathstick is gone. As for the ring, it still houses a small piece of Voldemort; the piece of him that feels mercy."�_

_"_ _Oh?"�_ Harry asked, looking down at the ring. Now he saw it. It was dormant. But Harry smiled, thinking that it would be for long. " _What part of him are in the other horcruxes?"�_

" _In the diary is the part of him that feels fear, for he was afraid of the Muggles as a child, having been in the middle of one of their worst wars. In the locket was the part of him that could feel guilt. In the cup was the part of him that felt love, so sickened was he by the actions of Hepzibah Smith. In the diadem was his thirst for knowledge, he did this unconsciously, leaving behind only his lust for power. In Nagini was his capacity to doubt himself. In you, he left behind what was left of his humanityâ€”his ability to understand. Each time he cut out a part of himself, he became someone else entirely. He wasn't always evil, Master. It was Dumbledore who accidently drove him away from what could have been a fruitful and prosperous future for the wizarding world."�_

_"_ _And is there any way to reunite the soul shard in the ring with the one in my head?"_ Harry wondered.

Death seemed to smirk at him. " _You needed only to ask, Master. Horcruxes fall into my domain."_ With that, the ring and his scar began to head up. Harry watched in interest, as a plan started forming in his mind. So Tom wasn't always evil, huh? Makes sense that someone would be so **_monstrous_** having gotten rid of all capability to have mercy, or feel any fear or guilt, to have love, even without ability to second guess himself. Worst of all was being rid of his thirst for knowledge. From what Harry had learned, so long ago in Dumbledore's pensive, that had been one of Tom Riddle's most defining traits: his need to know more. Though the final nail in the coffin was the soul piece that went into Harry. After losing all empathy, a person's natural connection to the people around him, he truly became a monster.

Maybe, if Tom Riddle was restored, 'Voldemort' would still be vanquished and the prophecy satisfied? A silvery hazy of smoky soul essence floated out of the ring. Harry felt a brief flash of pain as his scar opened up. Blood trickled down his face, but he ignored it in favor of watching the soul shard be absorbed by the piece he had inside of him. Death sealed it back away inside of him, though Harry noticed he gave it a small piece of Harry's own magic.

_"I'd give it six months before it starts talking to you,"_ Death told his Master. " _The Diary needed about that long to reach full strength, and it was an entire half of Voldemort's soul. And it was feeding off of Ginny, though a powerful witch she was, at the time she was only a girl, and her magic was nowhere near as impressive as yours." �_ Harry nodded, understanding.

He then slowly climbed out of his cupboard, knowing that his Aunt was already in the kitchen, making breakfast. Harry felt a strange pang inside of him as he caught sight of the woman preparing pancakes. She hadn't been nice to him in his original timeline, her fear of magic had been too much for her once Harry's explosive core began settling. Though, she was family, his own flesh and blood. Also, she had died a rather dreadful death in his original timeline. Rabastan Lestrange had sought vengeance for his sister-in-law, brother and Lord. So he sought out the Durlseys. Both Vernon and Petunia were tortured for information. Petunia refused to give him anything, but Vernon sang like a bird, telling them all about how Harry was planning on living in his godfather's old house as well as any other useless piece of info he could come up with. Vernon was tortured to insanity, much like the Longbottoms, before Rabastan was caught, but Petunia had been hit with Avada Kadavra.

She might not have ever liked him, but she was family. And she had died protecting him. So thinking, Harry hid Taffy in his long, messy hair (the snake was invisible up there) and approached his Aunt. "I help?"� Harry asked in a childish way, clasping his hands eagerly in front of him.

Petunia turned in surprise, then looked down at her nephew. Then, she gave a curt nod. The opened up a drawer and took out silverware. She handed him the utensils. "Lay a fork and knife at everyone's place, and _be careful"_ �

"Kay Aunt Tunia,"� Harry answered cheerfully as he set about it. Vernon was sleeping in today, apparently, as he made no appearance. Though Aunt Petunia left to get Dudley up and dressed. While she was at it, Harry used his wandless magic (so that it wasn't traced) to set the table the rest of the way with plates, cups and even got about to pouring milk for he and Dudley, and coffee for his Aunt. Luckily, though, he finished long before she came back.

Petunia entered the kitchen with Dudley on her hip, to find breakfast completely set out and her nephew seated calmly at the table, his hands folding neatly in his lap. Harry gave his Aunt his sweetest smile.

"Thank you, Harry,"� Petunia said softly.

Harry decided right then that if he wanted things to be different, he needed to change the way he acted. Drastically. So he did something he never did in his old life: "Love you, Aunt Tunia,"� Harry said shyly, looking up at her through his long lashes. He hadn't gotten his glasses yet (hopefully he wouldn't at all in this timeline), so his big green eyes were used full force. He poured all of his gratefulness he had for his aunt when he learned of her death into those four words. He really, truly, wanted to get to know his mother's sister.

Petunia then did something she'd never done in his previous life. She smiled at him before setting Dudley down in his seat. "Love you too, Harry. Happy Birthday."�

Harry decided, later, that swallowing his pride was the best thing he could have done. Because later that day, they celebrated his birthday, something that hadn't been done in his last life. Petunia took Dudley and Harry to get ice cream, then to a park, then later bought Harry a small stuffed bear. It wasn't much, but it was such an improvement that Harry had given his Aunt a tear hug, thanking her profusely.

Dudley, still far too young to really develop any animosity towards his younger cousin, had been very pleasant all day. He and Harry chased each other around the park, up and down the slides, and Dudley even pushed Harry on the swings a couple times before they both got bored with it. This, more than anything, made Harry think that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind coming home for summers after all.

It was no sooner than he reflected on this thought, that night when he was in bed, then did he feel the blood wards around the house strengthen and thicken, spreading over him like a mother's hug. Vernon had been at work most of the day, and so hadn't bothered him, though Harry was optimistic that Vernon wouldn't be as rough this time around.


	2. Slightly Older Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Dudley grow closer

“Auntie?” Harry asked Petunia one day. He was seven now, and more glad than ever that he and Petunia had made up. Vernon ignored him for the most part, while constantly spoiling and praising Dudley, but Petunia was treating him more and more like her own child. Dudley was like a brother to him, and, with Harry’s influence, wasn’t as chubby this time around. Dudley and Harry had watched a Kung Fu movie once, together, and decided they wanted to do that. And so, Petunia enrolled them in gymnastics and martial arts. After a few months, Dudley had lost the look of a beach ball wearing clothes. He was still a bit overweight, but it looked more like baby fat than obesity.  
Harry on the other hand was not malnourished, and the exercise he got with Dudley in the classes did him good. He was still slender, but not sickly looking. His hair, with product that Petunia showed him how to use, was now feathery and manageable. And when he was five he’d disguised himself as an adult, snuck into Diagon Ally, retrieved a bag of gold from his vault then bought the ingredients needed for a complicated vision correcting potion. He wouldn’t ever need glasses.  
Harry also no longer lived in the cupboard, he and Dudley shared the second largest bedroom while the smallest was a playroom they both shared as well. Currently, he and his Aunt were working side-by-side in their flower garden that they tended together. “Yes, dear?” Petunia asked as she pulled up a stubborn dandelion.  
“Look what I found!” he said excitedly as he held up the small snake he had ‘found’. Taffy was too big to hide in his hair, now that Petunia was showing him how to take care of it. The snake still on the small side, only six inches long and two centimeters wide. Petunia’s eyes went wide as Taffy curled around Harry’s wrist, his pink tongue flickering out. “He’s cute” Harry giggled as he held Taffy closer to him. Petunia watched in amazement as the tiny snake slithered and climbed all over her nephew, while Harry showed no fear at it.  
“He is very cute, but, Harry, snakes don’t make very good pets.”  
Taffy snorted at this, though Petunia heard nothing. Harry stared intently at Taffy, pretending to listen hard. Then, he allowed his vibrant eyes to flash with color, putting on a bit of a show for his aunt. With a low sibilant hiss, which was honestly the parseltongue equivalent of gibberish, Harry nodded solemnly. “He agrees with you,” he informed her after a moment. “He said he won’t be my pet, but he wants to be my friend. Please, can he be my friend?” Harry asked his aunt innocently. Petunia paled.  
She’d watched him closely for these seven, almost eight, years. He hadn’t shown any signs of magic. When Lily was a girl, she’d been exploding things left and right by the time she was five whenever she got angry. But then, she thought, Harry was so sweet he never really got angry. Petunia didn’t know what to think, she’d almost let her self believe that Harry wasn’t a wizard, after all. But, if he really could understand the snake, there was no denying it. Petunia wanted to scream and rage at the universe, it was so cruel. The same magic that had taken away her babysister, first hiding her away in that school, then killing her, was now claiming her little nephew. In no time at all, he would have to go to Hogwarts, and he’d forget all about the ‘muggle’ world. Just like Lily.  
“Of course you can,” Petunia said hoarsely as she drew Harry close to her, for once to caring about the dirt that she was smudging all over their clothes. No, she wouldn’t let Harry forget about them. Normalcy be damned. She lost her baby sister, she wasn’t losing her sweet little Harry as well. She’d buy one of those bloody birds so she could stay in contact—something she’d refused to do when Lily left. She’d encourage every ‘muggle’ hobby he had, while being supportive of his magic. She wouldn’t turn him away. She wouldn’t. She’d make it up to Lily, somehow, through her darling son.  
“Why don’t you go get Dudley, and we can go into town do buy him the things we need to make him a neat little house. Snakes need things like heating lamps to stay healthy, and we don’t want him getting sick, now do we?” she asked Harry with a smile that wavered only slightly. Harry bobbed his head eagerly as he charged off into the house calling out for “Big D!”  
Petunia wiped her eyes on her apron, now all she needed to do was keep Vernon from finding out. After he’d met James and his friends at Lily’s wedding, he’d hated the thought of anything ‘abnormal’. She wasn’t sure what James did to him, but she knew from Lily’s letters that he was an incurable prankster. And Vernon didn’t take jokes too well.  
Petunia sighed, deciding to tell Harry all about his heritage that night before bed. Then she sent up a fervent prayer that she wouldn’t lose her nephew like she lost her sister. “Cool!” She heard Dudley shout from inside. “MUM! Can I get a pet, too?!” Petunia laughed, quickly drying her tears.  
“Of course, Diddydums!”  
***1047***  
Harry sat in front of Taffy’s new terrarium where Death was currently lounging on a log, warming himself under a lamp. Dudley had bought a turtle, (which he’d named Laffy after learning what Harry was calling his snake), the turtle’s aquarium was directly next to Taffy’s cage. Dudley was laughing as he fed Laffy live crickets they’d bought at the pet store. Petunia had just left the room after ‘explaining’ his heritage to him. Dudley thought that it was really cool, and asked his mum if he was a wizard, too. Petunia only apologized to him, saying that it only ran in her sister’s side of the family.  
“That’s okay, mum,” said Dudley, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “As long as Harry promises to show me magic tricks!”  
“Promise!” Harry agreed with a firm nod. “But I don’t know any yet.”  
“You’ll start learning when you go to the school Lily went to,” Petunia told him with a smile. “You’ll learn all sorts of things. I remember that first summer Lily came home, she turned a tea cup into a toad! Though she got in trouble with her school for performing it outside of the magical world.”  
“Well,” said Harry thoughtfully. “If you come to the magical world with me, I can show you what I learned in school there, can’t I Auntie?” Petunia had immediately agreed, then left to get them a bedtime snack.  
Harry suddenly noticed that Dudley was very quiet. “You okay, Big D?”  
Dudley sent his smaller cousin a weak smile. “Mummy said you’ll leave when we’re eleven,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard about boarding schools. It’s not like the one we go to now, Haze,” Harry smile softly at his cousin’s name for him. “You live there.”  
“Is that bad, D?” Harry asked, stroking Taffy along his back. Dudley thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.  
“No,” he decided. “But promise you won’t forget about me.”  
Harry crossed his heart. “Promise. I’ll write you every day, if you promise to do the same!” Dudley crossed his heart as well.  
“Promise.”  
***1047***  
Harry lay in his bed that night, the top bunk in his and Dudley’s bedroom. Taffy lay sprawled out on his chest. “Hello?” he sent the thought to the other consciousness he found there. The soul piece had been strong enough to communicate for a while, though it simply didn’t. Harry assumed that it was because it knew who it’s host was, and thought that Harry didn’t know who he was. Most of Harry’s mind was blocked off, he was lousy at Occlumency, he always had been. Though Death/Taffy had helped him erect walls around certain parts of his mind. The parts, for example, that showed his memories of his past life. The only part of his mind that the soul piece could access, was the part that Harry allowed him to be in.  
“I can feel you!” Harry declared, pushing some of his magic at it. “And I know you’re not a part of me. What are you?”  
There was silence. Harry sighed, becoming resigned to the fact that Tom wasn’t going to respond, just like he hadn’t for the past three years. “No, I am not a part of you” a quiet voice in his head whispered. Harry’s eyes went wide as he waited for the voice to say something else. When it didn’t, Harry only smiled.  
“What’s your name?”  
“What makes you think I have one?”  
“You don’t have a name?”  
“I never said that.”  
Harry bit on one of his knuckles, to keep himself from laughing at waking up his cousin. “You’re funny.” Harry told the voice. “What’s your name? Or should I make one up for you?”  
The voice was quiet, but Harry could feel amusement and disbelief coming from the soul piece. Apparently, no one had ever told Voldemort that he was funny before. Shocker. “And just what would you name me, little one?”  
“Bob.” Harry answered immediately. “My name’s Harry!”  
“Yes, I know what your name is. No, you shall not call me ‘Bob’.”  
“Why? Bob’s a good name.”  
“It’s so common it’s repulsive.”  
“But I like Bob.”  
“No.”  
“What’s your name, then?”  
Silence. “I do not wish to tell you.”  
“Why? Is it embarrassing, like Leslie? Are you a boy or are you a girl? Ooh, can I call you Mort?”  
More amusement was coming from the soul piece. “No, my name is not embarrassing, merely well known. And I’d rather you learn about me from myself, than from an outside biased source.”  
“What does biased mean? And can I call you Mort!?”  
“Biased means to have firmly set beliefs that cannot be altered despite evidence nor truth. And…yes, that is acceptable.”  
“Cool! G’night, Mort.”  
“…………Good night, Harry Potter.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was ten now. With every day that passed he was getting more and more excited. “Mort”, who had in recent years taken up a permanent residence (and monologue) in the forefront of Harry’s mind, was also looking forward to when he would return to Hogwarts. Per Harry’s requesting, he regaled the young Master of Death with tales of his youth, when he attended Hogwarts. Some of what Harry learned surprised him, a few of the stories made Mort seem surprisingly…. human. It made him believe Taffy more than ever—not that he ever doubted Death—that Voldemort hadn’t always been evil.   
Mort told him about his best friend, Abraxas, who would help him prank their other friends and their rivals in other Houses. Oftentimes at night, Dudley would throw something at his cousin, asking him what was so funny, because Harry would be giggling madly at a story Mort was telling him. Apparently, young “Mort” and Abraxas were talented at staying out of trouble. No one but a man called Dumbledore ever suspected them.  
Harry felt proud of himself. Over the years, the two pieces of of Mort’s soul had perfectly blended together, as if they’d never been shattered in the first place. And to make it even better, the only part of Mort that was inside of him, was his human understanding, and his capacity for mercy. Mort was quite the good role model for Harry. Whenever Harry’s Gryffindor side showed itself, (such as the time he and Dudley begged Aunt Petunia to let them go bungie jumping on their vacation last year, or when he and Dudley went exploring a condemned building that was practically falling apart around them, or when they wanted to play cops and hide out in alleyways when Petunia took them shopping in the city, to lay in wait for any ‘bad guys’ that they could beat up) Mort would always very patiently ask that Harry reconsider what he was doing. And by that, I mean that Mort would be screaming his head (soul?) off the entire time, telling Harry that this was a VERY stupid, foolish and “Gryffindor” plan that should be abandoned at once.  
Not only that, but Mort was the best teacher Harry ever had. Even though Harry had technically lived longer than Voldemort by this point, he knew enough to know you never really knew everything, if in fact you ever learned anything at all. And so he eagerly learned about the theories of magic (Dark Magic, but still, Harry didn’t have a lot of practice in that area. He was practically a Master in Light Magic), the intricacies of wandless magic, mind magic (he’d always been rubbish at that so Harry was incredibly grateful for any further teachings on it), and history of the magical world. This especially perked Harry’s interest. So much was destroyed during the wars, and lost in the clean up afterwards, that he never really got to learn much about his world’s history.  
He learned about how the two younger Peverell brothers were the grandfathers of Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin, which made them related. Which then made Harry and Voldemort (distantly) related as well. Harry giggled to himself, silently, when he’d learned about that. In this previous life, he probably would have cucked his cookies. But now he found it amusing.   
Ah, being old in a young body. There was nothing better.  
He learned that Helga was the one to invent a cure for squibs that was rejected by modern healers, since it was blood magic, which was apparently considered evil. Mort told him story after story about the Founders, all that he’d read in various journals from Salazar’s private place hidden somewhere in Hogwarts.  
Harry ventured to ask Mort where that was, but the voice in his head only chuckled and said it was a secret that only the worthy few could know. When Harry asked how you knew you were worthy, Mort answered that he would know. When Harry asked “Know what”, Mort only replied that he would know that if he were worthy. To which, Harry replied that he was funny just to receive the customary serge of amusement that radiated from Mort whenever he did so.  
Mort didn’t much care for Harry’s relatives, Vernon in particular. In Harry’s early years, Vernon was content to ignore his nephew while lavishing gifts upon Dudley. But now Vernon had taken to shoving and pushing him around, or ordering him to do some unfair chore, like clean the drain pipes on the roof, or whitewash the garage, or a dozen of other chores that Petunia and Dudley always ended up helping him with. It had gotten to the point that Petunia and Vernon would constantly argue late into the night about Harry, Vernon only ever addressing him as “the freak”, while Dudley sniffled under his blankets, Harry felt guilty, and Mort seethed at the “worthless muggle”.   
Speaking of Dudley, he and Harry were the best of friends, partners in crime, and brothers in all but by name. Dudley couldn’t understand why his dad was so cruel to his ‘brother’, and went out of his way to share everything he got with Harry, be it candy, toys or even money. In return, Harry always helped Dudley in school, pushed him towards healthy activities and good friends (in this life, Dudley never became friends with Piers, Harry made sure of that).   
Petunia, as his eleventh birthday drew nearer, seemed to withdraw and become depressed. Harry and Dudley noticed, and tried their hardest to cheer her up by fixing breakfast, making her “WE LOVE YOU” cards, or picking her “bouquets” of weeds they found in the yard, which Petunia always laughingly accepted before placing them in a glass of water as if it were a vase, then stepping back to admire their “lovely gift” as though it had cost them fifty dollars, rather than five minutes running around the yard.   
Harry was overjoyed the day Mort admitted that for a muggle, Petunia was very kind. He went around smiling like an idiot all day. Perhaps there was hope for his new friend, after all.  
***1047***  
On the week before Harry’s eleventh birthday, exactly seven days before, he received his letter. Vernon was standing right behind him when it came. “Give it here, boy” he barked before snatching it out of Harry’s hands. Safely deep in his mind, Harry was unconcerned; nothing and nobody would ever stop him from going home to Hogwarts, least of all his uncle. Still, on the outside, when Vernon ripped the letter open, scanned through it, snarled, then tore up the letter, Harry filled his face and posture (and the part of his mind Mort “lived” in) with sadness, anger, disbelief and hopelessness.   
“HOW DARE HE?” Mort raged within his mind, making Harry recoil both physically and mentally from the sheer power of the the outburst. Mort quickly reigned in himself, though he was still livid. “That filthy muggle! He has no right coming anywhere near us, nor to lay a single unclean finger upon what is ours!” Then he paused before saying to Harry in a much calmer tone “Though I wouldn’t worry too much, Harry, there’s no chance that something as simple as a muggle ripping up the acceptance letter could ever stop us from going home.”  
Harry almost smiled at the warmth that Mort emitted whenever he thought about Hogwarts, but he kept his demeanor in check as Vernon turned on him. Harry flinched as Vernon raised a fist to strike him. “FILTH!” Mort screamed at the same moment the Petunia burst into the room.  
“VERNON!” she shrieked, running to stop her husband’s fist. Out of instinct, Harry raised his hands, a perfect (though slightly overpowered) Protego was conjured wordlessly and wandlessly over him. Vernon’s fist hit the shield and the force of the rebound blow sent him flying backwards. He hit the far wall, then sunk down unconscious. Harry froze. Mort seemed to be the mental equivalent of speechless for a moment, then he felt smug. Petunia was standing three feet away, gaping like a fish.   
Harry made tears fill his eyes. Dang it. He couldn’t believe he actually did that. “I’m sorry…I…I don’t know…wh-what…” his voice trailed off as he looked at the crumpled form of his uncle. Petunia still hadn’t moved. It was then that he saw Dudley sitting on the stairs. He’d seen the whole thing. True horror filled every fiber of Harry. What if he just ruined everything?  
Then, out of nowhere, Mort patted him on the head. Or, at least, that what Mort projected into Harry’s mind that he was doing…since he didn’t actually have any hands. “See, Harry?” Mort told him, his voice curiously sympathetic. “Muggles…they fear us. Even when all we do is protect ourselves.” That’s right, Mort had been raised in an orphanage. Harry felt empathy for his friend, but he couldn’t shake his weight of regret. If only he’d just taken the blow.  
Then there was a thunderous clatter coming down the stairs. Slightly chubby arms threw themselves around Harry. “Are you alright! That blue thing was amazing! What’d you do! I can’t believe Dad, he’s such a jerk! He didn’t get you, did he? Are you okay? Can you do that force field thing again? Do you think we could use force fields to float like Violet did in that movie we watched last night? What did that letter say? Why’d Dad want to hit you over it?” Dudley was babbling excitedly, bouncing back and forth between amazed, angry at his father, and concerned for Harry.  
“I’m okay…but I hurt Uncle Vernon.”  
“More power to you,” Petunia suddenly spoke up, softly but with a firm nod. Mort seemed, for the second time in so many minutes, speechless.   
“They aren’t afraid…?” his voice sounded lost, almost jealous.   
“You aren’t afraid?” Harry voiced Mort’s question. “B-but I’m a freak! Just like Vernon—“  
“Enough of that nonsense,” Petunia told him sharply. “You’re nothing of the sort. You are a perfectly normal, magical child. Dudley, Harry, go pack the things you’ll need for the next two weeks. We’re staying in a hotel.” Dudley cheered. He loved staying in hotels. That meant days lounging in the pools or going to shops or the zoo or various other vacation activities. Harry was still staring speechless at his Aunt, then his Uncle.  
“What if I hurt you?” Harry whispered. Dudley paused and looked at him.  
“You didn’t hurt him,” Dudley snorted. “He hurt himself by being stupid enough to punch a force field. Everyone knows what happens when you punch a force field.” He nodded like that was that, then turned and marched up the stairs to pack. Harry managed a little giggle at his cousin’s behavior. He turned to Petunia.  
“Go up and pack, sweetheart. I’m going to as well. We need to leave before he wakes up.” He didn’t need any more reassurance then that, with a light heart he hugged his aunt tightly before flying up the stairs. Dudley had simply dumped one of his drawers into a suitcase, thrown several jeans and shirts in after, along with various toys, video games and books. He was kneeling on the top of it, trying to zip it up. Harry helped him, then the two of them quickly grabbed Harry’s clothes and toiletries.   
Within five minutes the boys were clattering down the stairs. Petunia was already waiting for them, an anxious look on her face. Her car keys were in her hand, a large duffel bag in the other. Harry didn’t think Petunia was the sort to haphazardly pack like he and Dudley had, so he wondered to Mort if she had been ready to leave for some time already.  
“With how much they’ve been arguing…I wouldn’t be surprised, Harry.” Once again, Harry felt guilty. In his past life, Petunia and Vernon never separated. But it looked like that’s what would be happening this time ‘round. Though Harry did his best to put it from his mind. Perhaps that would be for the best.  
“Why does he hate me, Mort?” Harry asked as he cast one last look at his uncle as Petunia hurriedly ushered both of her boys out of the house.   
“Because he’s an idiot. I hate everybody, and I still tolerate your insipidness.” Harry smiled now, softly, so that only Mort could “see”.   
“Love you, too,” Harry told him. Mort harrumphed and did the voice-in-your-head equivalent of turning away and sticking your nose up in the air. But Harry had known him long enough that Mort was trying to be funny. Harry let Mort know he was amused, to which the ex- Dark Lord smiled….sort of, anyway.  
Petunia started the car and the three of them set off. Dudley suddenly turned to Harry. “Can you do it again? Like if I throw something at you, can you put up another force field and make it bounce off?” Before Harry could answer Dudley took off his shoe and threw it at Harry. It did bounce off…of his head.  
“Ow!” Harry whined, even though it hadn’t really hurt. Mort was chuckling. Petunia sighed from the front seat, but she was smiling. “How’d I do that?” Harry asked Mort.  
“Focus your energy into your hand, for now, then imagine it becoming solid and protruding out of you. That always worked for me.” Harry scrunched up his face, as though he were concentrating very hard. He held up his hand, and watched as a wispy blue cloud floated up from the palm of his hand. Dudley saw, and his eyes widened, only to look disappointed as the cloud evaporated. Harry breathed deeply, as though it had taken a lot out of him, even though he could conjure a perfect Protego in his sleep…literally…which made for some interesting nights when Ginny was still alive, and his kids were young and would bound into their parent’s room uninvited vaulting themselves on their unsuspecting, unconscious parents, only to then be thrown from the room by Harry’s accidental magic. He smiled inwardly at the memory.  
“That wasn’t bad for a second try,” Mort said encouragingly, taking Harry’s mental silence as disappointment. “Remember what I told you: Your magic is flowing constantly, like your blood, except you can redirect it as needed.” Harry nodded firmly, then held up his hand again as Dudley retrieved his shoe and prepared to throw it again. This time he produced an effective, though weak, Protego. The shoe flew backwards and hit Dudley square in the nose.  
“Ow!” Dudley whined just as Harry had moments before. Harry felt pride coming from Mort in response from his successful spell, and he felt almost guilty about keeping such a big secret from Mort. Then he remembered that Mort was yet to admit that he was a Dark Lord bent on taking over the world and Harry’s guilt lessened substantially  
Both boys started giggling as they admired the flickering blue light that still floated over Harry’s right palm until it went out. “Dudley, put your shoe back on, we’re nearly there,” Petunia said, and they could tell from her voice that she was trying not to laugh herself. “Harry, no more magic, please.” Annoyance rose up in Mort, as Harry’s heart sank. Seeing the effect of her words, Petunia was quick to add “We can’t have people seeing, and reacting like Vernon.” The way she spat out her husband’s name satisfied Mort, somewhat, though he was still slightly miffed. Harry, however, only smiled and nodded.  
Dudley threw his shoe one more time before slipping it back on his sock. “Ow!”  
***1047***  
Another letter arrived the next day.  
It was there when Harry woke up, sitting on his pillow, next to his face. Dudley was snoring in the bed across the room, and Petunia had her own bedroom. He was the first one awake, and his heart immediately started racing at the sight of it. Finally, he was going home. “Calm down, Harry,” Mort said, though there was humor, fondness and excitement in his own voice. “Open it”  
And so he did, tearing open the envelope like a child on Christmas Day. Mort was chuckling at his antics. The letter was the same as always. It never changed (minus the names, that changed with every child and/or Deputy Headmaster). Even when Harry was Deputy Headmaster, and then Headmaster, the wording was the exact same. Though, it took everything in him to not let Mort know something was off when he looked at McGonagall’s name. He always looked up to her, even when he was little and thought she was the scariest thing on earth (second only to his uncle and perhaps Professor Snape). And then she’d died over a hundred years before he, himself, had. He’d missed her terribly. Even still, he only let excitement, happiness and anticipation leak over into Mort’s half of their brain.  
“Hmm,” Mort mused. “McGonagall…Minerva McGonagall. If memory serves…we were friends.” Shock thumped Harry in the face.   
“Really? You were friends with one of the teachers? You can tell me how to get on her good side!” Harry said happily. Mort snorted, and muttered something about being such a “Gryffindorish Slytherin”.  
“Yes, we were friends. We were in the same year, in fact. Though we were in different houses. She was a Gryffindor, second smartest in our year.”  
“Who was the first?” Harry asked innocently even though they both knew he already knew the answer. Mort ignored him.  
“We were both muggleborn, so we had to stick together. Abraxas was the only pureblood in the group. There was also a Ravenclaw we took care of, Myrtle. She was a quiet thing, but intelligent. Always being picked on for not being the prettiest, or for having an interest in boys. Honestly, I think Minerva was more her cup of tea than any boy in our year. Though she made me swear never to tell…Oops.” Harry giggled, but inwardly his mind was reeling. Moaning Myrtle was one of Voldemort’s friends? Didn’t he kill her? Perhaps it really wasn’t on purpose? Here was Voldemort, talking about Moaning Myrtle the Mudblood with fondness, humor and…regret?  
“What about your other friends?”  
“Curious, aren’t you? Orion Black, a fellow Slytherin, was nice to us, though he was a year above us. And a pureblood, at that. Though later on his family’s bigotry got to him, and he cut ties with all us Mudbloods. But then there was a Hufflepuff, Magnus Diggory. He was good friends with McGonagall, and so we often interacted. Another Gryffindor, Lyell Longbottom, was good friends with Minerva, and he and I often challenged each other. You see, he was something of a friendly rival of mine. We were rival Seekers. Minerca was the star of Gryffindor, though. Smart, kind and their best Chaser to boot.”  
“I can’t wait to see a Quidditch game,” Harry said out loud, then covered his mouth quickly. Dudley didn’t move, he kept on snoring strong. Harry giggled and Mort sighed. “I’ll be a seeker, just like you.” Mort was silent, but Harry could tell he felt touched at Harry’s proclamation. He looked back down at the letter, then at the list on school supplies. They were both quiet for a little while. “Send reply by owl? We don’t have one yet.” He accidently said out loud.  
“I’d say to have your Aunt take you to Diagon Alley to get your things, but it would look suspicious if you knew where it was, never having been there before. As I’ve told you, Dumbledore came personally, and so I’m not quite sure how to handle this. Perhaps just show this to your aunt and see what she says. If she knows nothing, then we’ll wait. I’m sure that, given a few days, a professor will come and take you to get your things.”  
Harry nodded, and jumped off his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing he remembered was the horrible, horrible pain. It was consuming, as though his entire being had been rubbed raw, covered in salt, then dosed in flames. He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the blinding pain. But, unlike other pain, it didn’t lessen as he became used to it, nor did it numb him.  
It remained, for how long he didn’t know. It could have been hours, days, years even. And it remained, remained as hellish as the moment it started. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t feel anything. It was as though he was suspended by nothingness in a field of darkness. He couldn’t even feel the air. He couldn’t gather up enough thought to see if he was even breathing. He felt starved. And thirsty, gods so thirsty.  
And then, like a rush of the purest water, his pain alleviated. He’d been around enough to recognize the rush for what it was: magic. Light, pure, benevolent, healing magic. It engulfed him, and kept coming at him in a constant trickle. The pain was now an ache that throbbed instead of a flame that ate away at him.   
It was soothing, relaxing. He felt his being unwind. He could suddenly breathe again. He took in great gasping breaths, noting feebly that he still couldn’t feel anything…not even himself, but he didn’t care. For now. For now all that mattered was that the pain was gone. He didn’t know if and when it would return. Heck, he had no clue what was going on. He didn’t know how he got there…wherever here was…  
He fell asleep.  
***1047***  
When he found himself aware once more, it was because a rush of magic, even stronger, more purposeful than ever before, engulfed him. Embraced him. For the first time in…he had no idea how long…he could think straight. Though he still felt weak. Horribly weak. For as long as he remembered, he always despised being weak. For his whole life he fought against the helplessness that came with being a mudblood in a pureblood society, even when he knew he couldn’t really be such, just as he fought against the hopelessness that came from being an orphan in WWII.   
“Orphan?”  
He had spoken? It was the first time he’d been able to do so. Or had he spoken? Had he just thought it loudly? Orphan. Orphan! He remembered! He remembered Hogwarts, Dumbledore, his loyal “friends”. Wait, no, not “orphan”. Abandoned. Abandoned by Tom Riddle.  
Tom Riddle?  
The name caused him annoyance. The ache came back. He couldn’t think. The amazing rush of magic had dissipated. The pain became too much. He cried out silently with a hoarse shriek, clutching at his hair.  
Numbly he wondered when he grew back his hair.  
He lost himself again.  
***1047***  
He would catch glimpses now and then.  
Usually it was right after one of his “magic surges” as he’d taken to thinking about them. It was as though he was seeing through somebody else’s eyes. He’d see himself playing with a blonde little boy, slightly chubby with a belly laugh and dimpled grin, outside in the mud. He saw himself hugging a somewhat attractive woman with dark curls, large brown eyes and a kind smile. He felt pride as he saw he’d grown to be almost as tall as Dudley.  
Who the hell was Dudley?  
Tall? TALL?! Ha! He was a midget or, at the very least, a child.   
Wait…how had that happened?  
He also found that he couldn’t control anything. Try as he might, his body nearly always did the exact opposite as what it was supposed to. He also found that he still couldn’t feel anything, and most of the few sounds that filtered through sounded as though they were very far away. He tried to focus, but he couldn’t.  
He watched as he spoke to a cute little snake, keeping her hidden from a large fat man who was lumbering down the corner. Muggle, he thought immediately. Then he noticed that none of the pictures on the walls were moving. Had he been condemned to a life as a muggle for his crimes? Was this how muggles saw the world?  
Merlin have mercy.  
***1047***  
Harry Potter.  
Harry Potter.  
Sweet Morgana what happened?  
He remembered much of his life, now. He remembered his time as Lord Voldemort, of the war he waged against Dumbledore. He remembered the anguish he felt when the old fool convinced Dippet to deny him a place as DADA professor. And then again when Dumbledore himself denied him again, years after. He remembered the satisfaction, then grief, he felt when he murdered the Riddles. He remembered the look of disgust on his father’s face when they had met for the first, and only, time. The mocking laugh of his grandfather. The look of pity from his grandmother. He killed them all for it. And then he’d cried over his father’s body for denying him everything he’d ever wanted.  
Again.  
He remembered promising one of his followers to spare a certain mudblood, fully intending to do so. Then killing the bitch in irritation when she wouldn’t move out of the way. He remembered the words of the unfinished prophecy ringing in his ears as he gazed upon the unfrightened babe, with his large green eyes, the color of his favorite curse, and messy mop of untamable hair.   
He remembered how those eyes widened when he lowered the wand, leveling it at his small forehead. Then pain.  
“Harry, darling,” Aunt Petunia—no! No damn it! Mrs. Dursley—called to him. “Don’t forget to write your name on your jacket’s tag! That way if you lose it your teacher knows it’s yours.”  
“Kay!” said a bright and cheerful voice. Voldemort watched with growing horror as what he saw only confirmed his fear.  
Harry Potter.  
The prophecy rung once more hollowly in his mind. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies….  
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.  
The power to vanquish.  
The power to vanquish.  
Born as the seventh month dies.  
***1047***  
“Hello?” The Boy was trying to talk him him again. He had no idea how Potter knew he was there. Perhaps he was able to feel magic like he himself had when he was a boy, though he lost that ability later on in life for some reason. However he’d learned from Abraxas that it was a rare ability.  
He remained silent. “I can feel you!” The Boy declared arrogantly. Surprisingly enough he felt a strong, familiar rush of magic. Was The Boy really poking him with his magic? If so, than it was probably largely to his curiosity that Voldemort had recovered as much as he had. “And I know you’re not a part of me. What are you?” He let the magic wash over him with relish that he supposed a drug addict could relate to. The magic stopped, and the discontinuing was accompanied by a feeling of resignation from The Boy.  
Was the flow of magic directly related to The Boy talking to him? Only one way to find out. “No, I am not a part of you” he said cautiously. The flow of magic returned. The Boy felt excited for some reason.  
“What’s your name?” The Boy asked.  
“What makes you think I have one?” Voldemort snapped, already feeling irritated with The Brat.  
“You don’t have a name?” Oh, really. The Boy couldn’t actually be that dumb.  
“I never said that.”   
...  
Amusement? The Boy felt amused at that? “You’re funny.” The Boy said. “What’s your name? Or should I make one up for you?” For the first time that Voldemort could remember, he was stunned into silence. The boy thought he was funny? Voldemort almost laughed at that before catching himself. No one, not even his… associate, Abraxas, had ever said that.   
“And just what would you name me, little one?” Voldemort found himself truly wondering what The Boy would say. The strangest thing happened, however, as soon as he asked that. He found himself seeing clearly through The Boy’s eyes. The Boy was lying in a bed, a very comfortable bed. A snake, which he was petting fondly, lay on his stomach. Mountains of stuffed animals were scattered across his mattress, which appeared to be the top bunk of a double bed. He could not see much else, but even just that small amount seemed like so much after being blind in the dark for so long.  
“Bob.” The Boy startled him out of his thoughts with his abrupt answer. “My name’s Harry!”  
Voldemort smiled softly, then felt slightly confused at that. Why did he find this…endearing? He should hate the boy. And, furthermore, had anyone suggested that before, when he’d had his own body, he would have cursed that person to Hades and back. “Yes, I know what your name is. No, you shall not call me ‘Bob’.”  
“Why? Bob’s a good name.” Voldemort waited a moment for the familiar desire to torture somebody to rise up. It didn’t. Huh.  
“It’s so common it’s repulsive.” Voldemort tried to snap out, irritated. Though it was halfhearted, and he knew it. Hopefully the child wouldn’t, though.  
“But I like Bob.” The simplicity of the statement amazed Voldemort.  
“No.” He said as simply as he could right back.  
“What’s your name, then?”  
He paused for a moment. Already knowing he probably never tell The Boy the truth. “I do not wish to tell you,” he said honestly while praying that the boy wouldn’t question him.  
No such luck. “Why? Is it embarrassing, like Leslie? Are you a boy or are you a girl? Ooh, can I call you Mort?”  
Voldemort found himself chuckling. “No, my name is not embarrassing, merely well known. And I’d rather you learn about me from myself, than from an outside biased source.” Then he froze. Why would he say that? No, he hadn’t said it, he’d merely thought it. But it had sounded the same…  
“What does biased mean? And can I call you Mort!?” The irony struck him as funny. Which then struck him as odd. In his life, he wasn’t able to stand children. Even when he had been a child he’d hated how idiotic, immature, naïve and…childish they were.  
But Harry Potter seemed to be another creature all together. Was this really the one destined to destroy him? It makes sense that, if so, he’d be different. He may as well bide his time and see where this goes.  
It’s not like he had anything else to do.  
“Biased means to have firmly set beliefs that cannot be altered despite evidence nor truth.” Voldemort explained patiently. Then he said “And…yes, that is acceptable.”  
“Cool! G’night, Mort.”  
“…………Good night, Harry Potter.”  
***1047***  
Petunia woke up bright and early to find that Harry was babbling with Dudley, waving around a piece of parchment. Even though she’d always known this day would come…her heart sank a little bit. She knew what it was. Taking a deep breath, putting on her brave face, she stepped out of her room, approaching the boys.   
“I take it you got your letter after all,” she said with a shaky smile. Harry, sweet Harry, beamed at her. But it was Dudley who started talking first.  
“Mom, would ya check out this list? It’s so crazy, these stuff he needs for Potions Class? GROSS! He’s not allowed to have a broom though. Why would anyone even want to take a broom to school?”  
“To ride on, Dudders,” Petunia explained, her smile less forced now. “Are the two of you ready for breakfast.” The two of them cheered and scrambled for their socks and shoes. “Be quick, so we can get to Diagon Alley before lunch time. They’ve got a great ice cream parlor there.” Then she turned away, so that Harry wouldn’t see the way her eyes teared up.   
Because of this, she didn’t see the disbelieving look her nephew shot at her.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was convinced he’d somehow gone insane without noticing. Because he couldn’t talk to “Taffy” about certain things, Death had taken to residing in what Harry had mentally dubbed the “East Wing”, whereas Mort was in the “West Wing” of his brain. Both of them were talking at once. Harry was answering both at once, carrying on two completely different conversations. All while chatting with Dudley about their favorite TV show (Invader Zim).  
“Remember to act surprised when you first walk into the Alley,” Taffy warned.  
“I know” Harry replied. “I wonder if we’ll see anyone we know. I think we’re leaving a tad earlier than last time around.”  
“Remember,” Mort was telling Harry, “Ask about Gringotts Bank if your Aunt doesn’t show signs of knowing about it already. But don’t make it obvious that you know about it already or she’ll get suspicious.”  
“Why? Don’t Wizard shops take muggle money?” Harry asked in feigned confusion.  
“They do,” Mort agreed. “But you won’t be gaining any respect that way. Furthermore, you are the sole heir of an old wizarding family. You’re bound to have at least one heavily stocked vault in your name.”  
“I got a sammich in my head!” Dudley quoted from the latest Zim episode. Both little boys burst out laughing. Mort and Taffy sighed simultaneously in Harry’s head, making him laugh harder. Petunia chuckled a bit at them as she maneuvered their car through traffic.  
“Harry, dear,” she called his attention to herself. “The place where we need to shop for your things is in a bit of an odd spot. Muggles—people like me and Dudders, remember?—we can’t see it. So you’ll need to hang onto us and guide us is, alrighty?”  
“Kay,” Harry answered cheerfully. “What’s it look like?”  
“A dingy old pub,” Petunia sniffed disdainfully. Mort silently agreed that it wasn’t the classiest joint ever built. “The Leaky Cauldron if memory serves. We’ll need to ask someone who works there to help us into the Alley.”  
“Kay” Harry said again, pushing his long bangs out of his face and holding them back, as Dudley rolled down his window, making the wind whip around their heads.  
“Don’t forget your owl,” Taffy reminded him.  
“As if I could forget Hedwig,” Harry scoffed. “I’m going to ask to get her first thing. Right before the candy store.”  
“You do remember you’re not actually an eleven-year-old, right?” Harry didn’t deem that worthy with an answer, instead mentally turning to Mort.  
“What’s your favorite candy?” he asked. “I want to get some. Can you taste what I eat?”  
“Pumpkin Patsies…and yes.”  
“Cool! And gross. So you would taste it that one time Dudley dared me to eat a worm?”  
“Yes”  
“And that other time We dared each other to eat those live fishies in that big puddle at the park?”  
“Those were tadpoles. And yes.”  
“Cool.”  
“No, not ‘cool’.”  
Harry giggled out loud, Dudley joining in for no apparent reason. A burst of amusement came from both sides of Harry’s brain. He looked down at his wrist, where Taffy was currently clinging to him, basking in his body heat and the sunlight streaming through the window. Stroking his back, he hissed out loud. “Do you want anything from the candy store?”  
Taffy blearily raised his head and peered up at Harry. “Chocolate covered rats.” He replied, flicking his tongue out over his scaly lips in anticipation. “Or Frogs.”  
“Do they have those?” Harry asked Mort, who seemed slightly amused at the exchange.  
“I’m not certain that you should be feeding your snake chocolate, Harry. But yes, to my knowledge, they at least sell Chocolate Frogs. But there’s no actual frog in them, as they’re meant for child consumption.”  
“…child consumption…THEY EAT KIDS?”  
“You know what I mean, brat.”  
Harry giggled again, his cousin once again joining in without a second thought.  
Petunia pulled into a parking space in the back of a grubby looking dollar store, and parked the car. “Let’s go, boys. This is it!” She exited the car, leaving Dudley and Harry gazing out the windows in confusion.   
“This place is a dump!” Harry said to Mort as he followed his family down the street. The sidewalks were littered with…litter. And people wrapped in old, ratty clothes were huddled up against the brick walls. Older teens stalked the streets, sticking weird smelling muggle sticks in their mouths and exhaling clouds of grey puffs.  
“Those are cigarettes,” Mort supplied helpfully when he noticed Harry’s confusion. Harry nodded his understanding. No one in Surrey smoked, in public. Nor did anyone in the wizarding world. He’d quite forgotten about the practice. Taffy snorted on his wrist, wriggling up his sleeve.  
They walked another block, Petunia having a firm grip on Harry’s left hand and Dudley’s right, before the Leaky Cauldron came into view. “I see it!” Harry pointed.  
“Good boy,” Petunia praised him with a soft smile. “Now lead us in, carefully please.” Harry nodded and opened the door for his Aunt, propping it open with his foot before gently pushing on her arm to show her where to go. Dudley bumped into the door frame going in, but other than that they went in without any difficulty. Harry was the last one going in, behind his family. He unconsciously lifted a hand to scratch at his head, when Mort suddenly shouted.  
“Don’t!” Harry’s hand froze. “Remember, I told you? You are well known, and that scar is the most defining trait about you, aside from your eyes, anyway. Keep it hidden. We don’t want to risk unwanted attention. From the shape of it, it would assume that your scar is well known. It’s too detailed to not be, with you being…you.”   
“Idiot” Taffy chided him. “And I say that in the most loving and respectful way, master.”  
Harry sheepishly grinned in response to both of them, pulling his hair down flatter. Petunia approached the counter, where an old man was wiping down a mug. “Excuse me, sir,” she said politely. “My nephew is a wizard, though I am not. Could you tell me how to get to Diagon Alley?”  
The man looked at her with some surprise, then down at the two boys. “First year at Hogwarts them?” Petunia and Harry both nodded. “Curious, the school usually sends an escort for Muggleborns. No matter though, come along with me. Ol’ Tom, will getcha there.” He gave them all a kind smile, which all three of them returned.   
Mort was looking at him in interest. “Well, he hasn’t changed much at all”   
“You met him?” Harry asked, honestly curious.  
“When I was a boy, I convinced Dumbledore that I didn’t need an escort into the Alley. Tom here had to help me my first time in.” Tom led them out back, where they came face to face with a brick wall. He pulled a stubby looking wand out of his back pocket and tapped a brick that was clearly more scratched and worn than all the ones around it. The bricks wriggled and folded in on themselves, creating the arch Harry was so familiar with.  
“He’s old”  
“…yes”  
“Welcome to Diagon Alley!” Tom announced proudly.  
***1047***  
The alley was exactly as Harry remembered it from his first visit. Harry breathed in the smells of the busy street. People were bustling all around them. The smell was that of baking bread and the promise of coming rain, was well as underlying scents of acrid potions and the sugary smells of the sweet shop. Harry didn’t have to fake his wide eyed wonder. In the four-hundred plus years that he’d lived, Diagon Alley had been through three wars, four, including the first war with Voldemort that claimed his parent’s lives. The third was called the Creature Rebellion of 2183, and though it was shorter than the previous two wars, it was viciously bloody. Lasting only four months, over eight hundred Muggle-Born men and women were slaughtered for the “slander” they spread about the creatures of the wizarding world being monsters. To prove a point, all of the creatures used muggle or wizarding means to fight, not their creature prowess. Diagon Alley had been all but razed to the ground in the violence, and it took fifty years to rebuild. The fourth war that Harry had seen, had been led by Geofferson Granger (Hermione Weasley-Granger’s Great-great grandson) against the purebloods (who by that point had pretty much mellowed out in their views), angry that they seemed to think themselves some kind of nobility (which, you know, they kinda were). The Malfoy, Longbottom, Greengrass, Nott, Selwyn and Parkinson Lines were all completely destroyed. As was Diagon Alley.  
By the time Harry had died, Diagon Alley was very much modernized. And it had always bothered him. He hated how much wizarding history had been lost, and due to Muggleborns seeing the need to make the wizarding world exactly like the Muggle world. But, honestly, if they wanted to live in a technologically advanced world, why enter the wizarding world at all.  
That was something Harry intended to change this time around.  
He felt a twinge of nostalgia and wistful joy from Mort, as he relived his first time seeing the Alley. Harry hid the longing pain he felt as he took in the whimsical, old-fashioned street. This, this was how the wizarding world is supposed to be: magical, not modern.   
Next to him, Dudley was gaping at everything, though Petunia seemed more subdued. “Alright, Harry,” she said to him, a tight smile on her face. “We need to head to that big white building so we can trade our paper money for wizard coins.” She held out her hands for both of her boys to take, which they did gladly, while Dudley was still in shocked silence by the overload of new sensations.   
“You’re so lucky, Haze,” he said, eyes wide, like he was trying to take everything in at once. “I wish I were a wizard!” Harry giggled   
“It’s okay, D,” he said. “I’ll learn magic, and then I’ll share it with you! I’ll buy a big magic house when I’m grown up, and you can live there with me!”  
“And Mum,” Dudley said firmly.  
“And Mum” Harry echoed, breaking the spell (so to speak) and making both boys dissolve once again into giggles as Petunia guided them through the crowd of shoppers getting ready for the school year. Though, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his Aunt’s smile become a little less forced.  
“Mort? Why’s Aunt Petunia sad?” Harry asked Voldemort.   
“I’d assume it’s because she’s fond of you for some inexplicable reason, and in a short while you’ll be off on your way to boarding school.” Mort explained plainly. “She’ll be fine. Look over there, that small building. That’s where you’ll be getting your wand.” Mort continued to point out various landmarks, including the book store and the ice cream parlor. Meanwhile, Death was carrying on another conversation.  
“Master, I’d suggest playing nice with any pureblood you meet, should you chose to save their lines in this life. Part of the reason you were helpless to save them was their lack of trust in you. Even the Longbottom heir assumed you’d side with Granger.”  
“I remember, Taffy,” Harry said morosely. “I plan on making Slytherin. Befriending Draco is a must. I don’t really remember much about the others, though.” Around the time Harry was 178, he and Draco met by chance in Wizarding America. Draco was taking Scorpio, his son, and Rosaura, Scorpio’s betrothed, to the Quidditch World cup, which was being held there. Harry, on the other hand, was involved in some delicate international affairs. Both had escaped the stress of being around people by ducking into a Muggle café. It took them a full ten minutes of conversation before either had recognized the other (Harry was wearing a glamor and Draco grew a beard). And which point, Draco called Harry “Scarface” and Harry called him “Ferret Head”. They then realized that they’d mixed up the insult somewhat and smiled ruefully at each other.   
It had led to a rather strange but enjoyable friendship that Harry had missed when, decades later, Draco had been killed in the ‘Mudblood Uprising”.   
Petunia guided them up the steep marble steps of Gringotts, nodding respectfully at the goblins as they passed as Mort gave Harry a crash-course on how to treat said creatures. Dudley was once again struck silent, watching everything with a cautious gaze.  
Petunia was lead to a desk where she cleared her throat primly to catch the goblin’s attention. “I’m here to exchange Muggle currency for Galleons,” she said clearly, meeting the goblin’s eyes but not sounding patronizing nor afraid. The goblin measured her with his gaze, then he saw Harry.   
“Will Heir Potter be seeing his vaults?” the goblin asked.  
Petunia hesitated. “His key was never given to me.” The goblin scowled.  
“I shall call the inheritance manager,” he informed her. “You’ll not be needing to exchange anything, should that boy truly be the Potter child.”  
“He is,” she confirmed. The goblin nodded and called out in Gobbledygook. A moment later, a weathered old goblin approached.  
“I am Slifang,” he said in a croaking voice. “If you’ll please follow,” he said as he turned without glancing back. They followed him deep into the hallways of the bank, before he turned and entered a rather austere room with ebony and stone furniture. He sat at a desk and gestured for them to to the same. Waving his hand over the empty air on his desk, a decorative bowl seemed to shimmer and form out of nothing. “Your hand” the goblin said to Harry.  
“Go ahead, Harry,” Mort said comfortingly. “It’ll hurt for a moment, but he’ll heal you right away.” Never having done this before, Harry looked with curious eyes as he held out his hand. The goblin gently took it, leaving the palm facing up, then dragged one of his long, ragged claws across Harry’s palm. Petunia’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing. Dudley gasped and cried “Don’t hurt him!”  
“I must test his blood” the goblin said, though Harry had dealt with goblins enough to hear the pity in the old voice. Harry watched as blood weld up in his palm. Then the goblin waved a hand over the crimson pool as liquid spilled into the bowl. He turned his hand over, dumping all of the blood into the container, sliding off as though his palm were coated in oil. As he did so, Harry realized his cut was already healed.  
From out of the desk, the goblin retrieved a rolled-up scroll. He dipped one side into the bowl of blood and the three humans watched in morbid fascination as it was absorbed by the parchment. The bowl disappeared and Slifang deftly spread out the scroll, watching blankly as words appeared in red “ink”.  
‘Hardwin “Harry” James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter, son of Fleamont Henry Potter.  
Vaults: 28  
Total Worth: 280,987,042,001.7 Galleons  
Properties: Godric Hollow, Peverell Manor, Potter Manor, Potter Plantation, Janus Cottage, Ophelett Mansion, Kesut Cathedral, Fawley Manor, Shafiq Townhouse, Shafiq Plains, (1/2) Hogwarts  
Companies: Sleak-Easy Enterprizes  
Heir of: Potter, Gryffindor, Peverell, Fawely, Shafiq, Kesut, Black  
Wizemgot Seats: 11  
Magical Guardian: Albus Wolvric Brian Percival Dumbledore  
Acting Guardian: Petunia Orpah Dursely nee’Evans’  
Harry gaped at the paper, wishing he’d done something like this in the original timeline. Who were all these names? Why was he their heirs? Were they family? Were they alive.  
HARDWIN?! Bloody hell, Mum and Dad, were you asking for my life to be torture? Mort seemed to be baffled as well. Luckily, Death was not.  
“The Fawley and Shafiq families are pureblood light families who passed away in the war. They were friends of your parents, and had no heirs of their own. They left everything they owned to your father, and in turn, to you. The others are various families who benefited from the outcome of the war, and, to thank you, named you heir.”  
“Now I feel guilty. I never did anything with what they left me. I should turn at least one of those places into a magical themepark in their honor.” Harry felt Death sigh.  
“I can buy a house for us,” Harry said out loud, shocking his Aunt and Parasite into action.   
“NO” they both said at once.  
“You’ll need this money to rise in the wizarding world” Mort told him as Petunia was saying “We’re not using this money for anything but your education, Harry.”  
“His name’s Hardwin,” Dudley cut in. “What kind of name is Hardwin?”  
“A traditional Potter name that has be reused numerous times throughout the family’s history,” Slifang said, sounding almost offended on behalf of the Potter family. “Heir Potter has many famous and courageous ancestors who bore the same name.” Harry was humbled by this, though he felt Mort radiating jealousy.  
“Can I see my vaults?” ‘Hardwin’ asked. Blech, what a dumb name.  
An hour later found them exiting the bank, Harry holding a large bag of gold coins.   
***1047*****  
Petunia and Dudley had abandoned Harry at Madam Malkins, while the two of them went to get his potions supplies and trunk, trying to cut down on the time they spent shopping. So, Harry stood on the stool, arms spread out as magical measuring devices fluttered around his head. The door behind him opened and he heard voices in the front of the store. It sounded like a woman had entered the shop. Though when he turned his head, it was a young man his own age entering the fitting room.  
The boy had caramel colored hair and large, dark eyes. His skin was pale, and he was slightly taller than Harry (not that it was that hard of a feat). He held himself confidently, with an elegant air. Pureblood, Harry assumed.  
The boy stepped up onto a stool, and half of the measuring instruments automatically flew over to him. The boy looked him up and down curiously. “Hello,” he said, his voice soft.  
“Hey!” Harry said cheerfully. “Are you going to Hogwarts this year?” The boy smiled and nodded. “Same, obviously. I hope I’m in Slytherin, it’s the best house. You?” Harry felt Mort smile at his words.  
“Slytherin as well, though Ravenclaw wouldn’t be terrible,” the boy said, his tone slightly pompous, but mostly pleased. “My family’s has always gone into one of the two.”  
“I think mine’s a bit more diversified than that,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I know my parents were both Gryffindor.”  
“I’m Theodore, by the way.” They boy suddenly said. “Theodore Nott”  
“Pureblood,” Mort spoke up. “It would be wise to be friends with him. His family is very influential. Though if I were you, I’d find a Black or Malfoy. Though, I wonder if there will even be a Black in Hogwarts, now. You were named the heir. It’ll be odd not seeing a Black, there. In my day Slytherin was overrun with them.”   
“Hardwin,” Harry said, deciding to use his obviously wizarding name. “Hardwin Fawley” There was surprise and amusement from Mort and Death respectively. Though Mort soon voiced his approval at Harry’s “Slytherin” thinking. “As the son of one of m-magical Britain’s muggle-opposed families, he’d probably be predispositioned to hate you. And as the Fawley Heir, you have every right to claim that name.”   
“Your name is Fawley?” there was surprise in Theodore’s face. “I thought they all died.” Harry didn’t have to fake the depression on his face. “Sorry.” Theodore was quick to apologize, but Harry shook his head.   
“It’s okay,” Harry said. “Mum and Dad hid me during the war. Didn’t want me to get caught up in things. I’ve been staying in the Muggle world,” Harry grimaced, and Mort applauded his acting. “I’m sure I’ll be the absolute worst in Hogwarts. I don’t know anything about magic. I wasn’t allowed to do it, growing up, you know. But, yeah, my name is Hardwin Fawley.” A slight tremor echoed through Harry’s magic, and it confused him.  
There was true horror on Nott’s face, and Harry felt amused. “Really? I’m so sorry. But I wouldn’t worry, Hardwin, plenty of Mudbloods go to Hogwarts, and they adjust fine. Plus, you’ll have me and the other proper wizards in Slytherin (if we both get into that House, anyway), and we’ll all help you!” Harry smiled at his new friend.   
“Then I hope we both get into Slytherin,” Harry said earnestly. Theodore grinned at him. Just then, Dudley appeared in the window. He waved. “Tell Nott he’s a squib. Trust me” Mort said.  
“Who’s that?” Theodore asked curiously. “Do you know him?”  
“That’s my cousin, Dudley,” Harry said. “He’s a squib, but he’s still pretty nice.” Theodore grimaced, but seemed acceptant enough.  
“Well, I supposed Squibs are better than outright muggles,” he said. “You’ve been living with him, then?”  
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Him and my Aunt.” One of the assistants came in and told Harry his order was ready. “I’ll see you at school!” Harry waved at Theodore as he hopped down at followed her out.  
“Bye, Hardwin!” Theodore called. “Don’t forget to buy an owl, so you can write me!”  
****1047****  
By the end of the day, Harry had bought his weight in books, all of the required school materials, his old phoenix and holly wand, (and a holster at Mort’s insistence) and Hedwig. “I met a boy who said I should buy one,” Harry said by way of explanation when he dragged his family into the Owl Emporium. Dudley was content with the enormous amount of candy Harry bought him, though Petunia insisted she didn’t want any.  
That night they went back to the hotel. Taffy warmed himself on top of the minifridge in the room while Dudley and Harry watched one of their shows on the television, which going through Harry’s new ‘magic books’.  
“You can play for now, ‘Hardwin’,” Mort told him. “But tomorrow I expect you to begin reading through your books. I don’t want you doing poorly in school just because you were too busy to read them.”  
“I will,” Harry promised him. “I can’t wait. I want to see the ghosts and the giant squid and find all the secret rooms and—“  
“Yes, yes,” Mort interrupted him. “But you must be careful of what you do. Everything you do from now on will determine the rest of your life, whether or not you’ll be accepted into wizarding society.”  
“I’ll do my best”  
****1047****  
Hope you liked it!  
*****1047*****  
(Bonus Bit)  
Petunia held Dudley’s hand tightly as she walked into the apothecary. Memories of her and Lily scouring the shelved back when they were close flooded into her mind. The smell was offensive to her nose, but she soldiered on, looking down at the list for what she needed, temporarily letting go of Dudley’s hand to reach into her purse for the small bag of gold she’d taken from Harry.  
She reached back to take her son’s hand again, only to find that he wasn’t there. “Dudley?” she called out softly, looking about her.   
“Here, Mum” she heard him. Giving a sigh of relief she walked around the shelf to find him staring at a jar of pickled lizards. “Will Harry need these?” he asked her. She was about to say that it wasn’t on the list, when a deep voice cut in.  
“It’s not required, but I’d recommend it. They help with balancing out mistakes beginners tend to make.” Petunia froze. She knew that voice. She turned slowly, and was faced with a familiar man with long black hair and piercing eyes. Lily’s friend: The Snape boy. Well…not ‘boy’ anymore.  
Snape frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Madame, I shouldn’t have interrupted your shopping.”  
“It’s alright, Severus” she said softly as he turned to leave. He paused, then looked back. His face was blank, but his eyes were questioning her. She almost laughed. “You don’t recognize me?” Now, Snape frowned. “I’m not surprised. It’s been a long time, and I’m afraid we didn’t say good-bye on good terms. I’m Lily’s sister, Petunia. Do you remember my sister?”  
“I remember” his voice gave nothing away, but Petunia was certain he’d paled a bit. “But…you’re a muggle. Why’re you in a wizarding shop? Is your son a wizard?”  
Before she could say anything, Dudley spoke up ever the social butterfly. “I wish. Harry’s so lucky! I’ll bet one day he’ll be able to turn my dad into a toad. And then we could keep him in a box so he wouldn’t be mean to Mummy and Harry anymore.” Dudley gave a firm nod, oblivious to the horror on his mother’s face. In fact, Petunia was so embarrassed by what Dudley had inadvertently confessed about his father that she missed the look of pure outrage that flitted across Severus’ face, before it was replaced with his usual cool mask.  
“So you’ve been caring for Potter all these years?” Severus asked. “How is he?”  
Petunia quickly grasped the new, happier topic. “Oh, Harry’s a sweetheart, though I’m probably a bit biased. He’s very intelligent, too. Top of his class, just like Lily. I swear, he’s his father on the outside but his heart and brain is all my sister.”  
“Bit of a know it all” Dudley muttered. “But he helps me with my school, so it’s okay, mostly.”  
“Interesting,” Severus replied neutrally. “I hope he inherited her hand for potion making. I’ve had enough of first years blowing up my classroom, and James Potter seemed to take joy in causing explosions.”  
Petunia started to smile at first, but then there was surprise. “You’re a teacher?” she asked incredulously. “You?” Severus actually smiled a bit.  
“It surprised me, as well. I assure you.” Petunia gave a single laugh.  
“I’ve told Harry a bit about you, since Lily was always fond of you. He’ll be happy to know that you’re one of his teachers. He’s awfully shy in new situations, and he was scared of going to Hogwarts this year. Honestly though, Severus, it’s a real relief to know you’ll be there. Harry would be a loner if it weren’t for Dudley always pulling him into doing things. Most of the time, if you’ll let him, he’ll hide all day inside reading.”  
“Or staring at all wall,” Dudley chimed in. “He does that a lot to. And he talks to himself. He’s weird, but it’s a good weird. He laughs at himself, too. Like, he’ll just be sitting here and all of a sudden he’ll start laughing at nothing. It’s pretty funny.”  
Severus frowned, starting to feel concern. He turned to Petunia. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Though, knowing his parents, he’ll probably go into Gryffindor House. I’m only in charge of Slytherin. Though, if that happens, I’ll be sure to warn his Head of House to take extra care with him. Perhaps get the mediwitch to take a look at him.”  
Petunia looked exasperated. “Honestly, Severus, there’s nothing wrong with him. If you ask him why he’s laughing he’ll launch into this complicated explanation of something he was thinking about. He’s just…very self-contained.”  
“I’d like to meet him,” Severus said, surprising himself. “Before Hogwarts, I mean. I could talk to him about Lily…” Severus offered weakly, trying to justify his statement. Though Petunia only looked pleased.  
“I’m sure he’d like that” Petunia said with a bright smile, pulling her purse to her front to dig into it. “Let me write down the name of our hotel—“  
“Hotel?” Severus asked sharply, purposefully turning to Dudley, knowing he’d get more information out of the talkative boy.  
“Yup!” Dudley said happy, not disappointing Severus’ assumption. “We get to stay in a hotel until Harry goes away. It’s because Dad hit Harry, so we ran away.” The little boy spoke this all very fast and uncaringly while he looked at various potion ingredients, as though it were a common occurrence. One look at Petunia confirmed it.  
“I’ll go fetch what Harry will need for his school year,” Severus told her. “The basic package never has enough of anything.” He turned and left Petunia alone to gather herself while he seethed on the inside. All these years he’d assumed Potter was being spoiled by some Light family, like the Weasleys. Only to find out that he grew up in the Muggle world. Sure, Petunia seemed to dote on him, but Potter was apparently nothing like what Severus’ had thought he’d be. And furthermore, Har—Potter was being abused by his uncle, who may or may not also being hurting Petunia.   
Severus glanced over his shoulder as he deftly scooped ten ounces of leaves into a bag. Petunia was selecting a cauldron for Harry. The woman was nothing like a bitter girl he once knew. And yet, he’d always known that Petunia loved her sister, and that her bitterness stemmed from Lily being taken from her nine months out of the year, sometimes more than that when Lily stayed with her wizarding friends over the summer. But this woman was mature and kind, obviously caring of her nephew. Proud of him, even.   
Severus sighed, massaging his temples. For the first time, he hoped Harry Potter would be Slytherin. It’d be easier to keep his promise to Petunia that way.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry stroked Hedwig’s wings, humming quietly to himself as he read through his potion’s text book with Mort. Every now and then, Mort would make corrections such as “Cross that out, whoever wrote this was an idiot. That ingredient is entirely unnecessary for this potion” or “Dice the beetles, really? Are they trying to stunt the education of Wizarding Britain?” Harry would always giggle at Mort’s rants, making Petunia, who was cooking over at the kitchenette look over at him and smile.  
“Reading something interesting, darling?” she asked as she stirred the alfredo sauce. “I didn’t think your text books would be so funny.”  
“It’s just I was thinking that we always complained about normal medicine tasting yucky. But wizards have lizards in their cough syrup!”  
“Really?” asked Dudley in disgust. “Cool! MUM! Next time I’m sick can I have lizard medicine?” Harry giggled at him, before dutifully scribbling in some notes that Mort muttered in his mind. The days to Harry’s birthday were drawing closer. This year, they decided to see a movie in theater, then take a hot air balloon ride. When discussing it, Petunia had smiled conspiringly at Dudley, and said that she had a surprise for Harry afterwards, and Dudley had grinned like he was in the know.  
But when questioned his cousin admitted that he had no idea what Petunia was talking about.   
***1047****  
Dudley and Harry were both leaning over the side of the balloon’s basket, letting the wind whip through their hair. Harry grinned like a maniac, his glee doubled at the quiet fear he felt coming from Mort, and the exasperated worry from Death. It was very windy, up as high as they were, and he and Dudley had great fun simply screaming nonsense into the wind, feeling the noise get carried away before it could be properly heard.   
“Don’t lean so far, you little imbecilic brat!” Mort commanded him. Harry only laughed and stood on his tip toes. Petunia’s arms were suddenly wrapped around Harry and Dudley’s shoulders. The two boys pouted, but she refused to relinquish her grip on them.   
The ride was over all too soon, though Petunia looked very relieved to have all six of their feet planted firmly on the ground. Dudley and Harry cheerfully chatted with the hot air balloon workers while Petunia discreetly stood several yards away, out of earshot, having flipped open her phone. Harry would occasionally tear his eyes away to look curiously at her.  
“Hey Taffy, what’s she up to?” Harry asked silently. He had long since had much in the way of mistrust for his aunt, however a life time of paranoia could not be erased by a scant few years living mostly without cares. “Do you know?”  
“Of course I know,” Death scoffed. “I’m Death, and Death knows all. And…no, I’m not telling you, Master dearest.” Harry pouted visibly. Dudley noticed, as did Mort.   
“What’s wrong, Haze?” Dudley asked him, turning away from the workers as they went back to taking care of the other customers, leaving the little boys to their own devises while they waited for Petunia. “Do you feel sick?”  
“No, D,” Harry smiled at him. “I’m just curious. You sure you don’t know anything about the surprise?”  
Dudley shook his head. “I mean…I’d think she was calling something like you. You know with your…” Dudley made a vague gesture towards Harry’s forehead. “But, they don’t use cellphones, do they?” Harry considered this.  
“Then what?” he asked.  
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mort told him comfortingly. “Knowing your aunt she probably just booked a restaurant for lunch, it’s getting to be around that time, after all.” Harry mentally conceded the point. Dudley suddenly gasped and took hold of his wrist to drag him both out of his thoughts and towards a public bench that was placed along side the sidewalk. Sitting on the bench was a young woman reading a book, and tied to the leg of the bench was a small black dog sitting primly beside her owner.  
“PUPPY!” squealed Harry and Dudley at the same time, causing the owner to look up from her book and give a friendly smile, and for Taffy and Mort to send Harry similar messages of fond exasperation.   
As Harry leaned over to let the dog lick his fingers, he suddenly remembered something that made him feel guiltier than he had since the last wizarding war…Sirius!!!  
“I’m a terrible godson….” Harry thought mournfully as he watched his cousin try to prompt the dog to roll over. “I’m the worst godson ever. I don’t deserve Padfoot’s love. I can’t believe I just forgot about him….”  
“Well,” said Taffy reasonably. “It has been around four and a half centuries since he died, according to your perspective anyway. Besides, how would this version of you even know about him? You’ve been in the muggle world all of these years, and your Aunt has never mentioned anything about him. Under normal circumstances…well, under circumstances in which you wouldn’t have an ex-Dark Lord living in your head, we could simply disguise you and provide enough information to get Sirius a trial. However….” Harry, still feeling guilty for doing so, reluctantly put the idea of freeing Sirius Black to the back of his mind, where Mort couldn’t see it.   
“Boys!” Petunia called. Harry stood up from where he was still kneeling next to the little dog and waved to his aunt to show he had heard. After saying goodbye to the nice lady and her dog, Dudley and Harry trotted back over to her. “Are you two ready for lunch?” she asked with a smile. “I’m thinking pasta, what about you?”  
“Sounds yummy” agreed Harry readily, still finding it novel whenever Petunia would willingly take him to a restaurant. Dudley cheered and began begging for various desserts to have after the meal, all of which Petunia replied to with a vague “We’ll see.”  
“Who were you talking to, Auntie?” Harry asked her, taking one of her hands as Dudley seized the other. “On the phone”  
Petunia smiled. “An old friend, we’ll be meeting up with him for lunch.  
****1057****  
Severus felt nervous.  
It was ridiculous, really. It wasn’t as though spending time around young children was anything new to him, for Merlin’s sake. He was a teacher. Even still, he found himself applying to rather unusual amount of attention to his appearance. His hair, which was almost always coated with water-resistance potion residue from fumes, he had painstakingly washed several times until it no longer looked quite as “slimey” as his Gryffindor students liked to put it. However, there was only so much that could be done about a life-time’s worth of bending over cauldrons. Furthermore, he had to wear muggle clothes for the first time in nearly half a decade, and he found that he didn’t like any of the clothing articles he possessed.  
Realistically, he knew that going shopping for a totally new outfit just for today was both wasteful and unnecessary, so Severus made due with a dark green button shirt and an uncomfortable pair of dress pants, which were just slightly too tight around the knees and waist.  
He checked the clock again, for the tenth time in the last hour. When his house phone rang he jumped in surprise, then fumbled to pick it up in time before it went to voice mail. “Snape.” Severus answered the phone curtly, then silently smacked himself for it.  
“Yes, hello? It’s Petunia.”  
“Yes” Severus said, then resisted the urge to pound his face into the wall. “I assume that our plans to meet today are still happening?”   
“Of course,” Severus could hear a smile in her voice. “Thanks so much for agreeing to this Severus, I know it will mean the world to Harry. We were just about to go to a nice little Italian restaurant in the area. The boys haven’t eaten yet, so I was thinking that you could meet up with us there? What do you say? It will be my treat.”  
“That sounds…agreeable.”  
“Wonderful!” Petunia rattled off the approximate location of the restaurant she had in mind, and when Severus confirmed that he knew where it was she cheerfully told him that they would be on their way there shortly, then hung up.   
***1047***  
Harry and Dudley excitedly took their seats at a square table in the middle of a lively restaurant. Petunia took a moment to sit down, scanning over the heads of the other guests at the restaurant, looking for something. Harry exchanged a curious look with his cousin, who shrugged once more. When Petunia finally sat down, a waiter was quick to approach their table. “Just a minute,” Petunia requested before Dudley could request his usual chocolate milk. “We’re waiting for one more.” The waiter smiled wordlessly, and gave a polite bow before scurrying off to tend to other patrons.   
“We are?” asked Dudley as Harry began to absently play with Taffy, letting the little snake run over his fingers. Petunia didn’t notice, but Mort did.  
“What do you think you’re doing, brat?” Mort asked his host. Harry, despite knowing exactly what he was doing, send a notion of innocent confusion towards Mort. “I’ve told you, child,” Mort said in exasperation. “Don’t let your snake out in public.”  
“He wants to eat too!”  
“We both know he already ate this week, and that, furthermore, consuming human food will make him ill.” Mort said sternly. “Also, I want to see who exactly your Aunt invited to lunch, so try not to get us kicked out.”  
Harry pouted outwardly, but now he had an excuse to let Taffy slide into his sleeve, the arm closest to the remaining, empty chair at their table. “Auntie,” Harry asked as he twirled his fork around on the table. “Who is coming?”  
Petunia actually smiled. “An old friend,” she said. “You’ll see.”  
They didn’t have to wait long. Just as Dudley was starting to get bored, a smooth, low voice spoke. “Miss Evans,” said a tall man with sallow skin and long, black hair. Harry very nearly gave himself away, if not to the three people now at the table with him, then to Mort. Because when he met the eyes of his old Potion’s teacher who, in the end, had given his life for the “greater good”, he felt his heart and stomach wind themselves around each other and squeeze. He’d felt guilt over his sour relationship with Snape for years.   
However, as Taffy gave him a supportive constrict around the wrist, Harry managed a smile. It was somewhat strained, but to the others at the table, merely looked charmingly shy. “Hullo,” said Harry, softly. Then realized that his Aunt had not corrected Snape’s mistaken form of address.   
“I recognize him,” said Mort in surprise. “Be careful, Harry. He may mean you harm. There was a time when he worked for a…a very bad man who, at one point, would have loved to do you great harm. Be on your guard.”  
“Well,” said Taffy. “That complicates things” Harry mentally sighed. Now, he would have to keep up two fronts whenever he was around Snape…One for Snape’s benefit and one for Mort’s. Well, Harry always did love a challenge. He sent a wave of understanding to Mort as he kept his face carefully cautious, as would be expected from the sweet, shy Harry Potter he’d been showing his Aunt all these years.  
To his surprise, and to Mort’s, Snape gave Harry a gentle smile and extended a hand to shake. “Mister Potter,” he clasped Harry’s tiny hand in both of his own, larger, calloused ones. Then he nodded cordially to the two Dursley’s. “My name is Professor Severus Snape,” he said, still maintaining the friendly, if a bit small and forced, smile. He wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes. “I teach at Hogwarts.” Snape said, a tad awkwardly. He shifted from foot to foot, then added. “I knew your mother, long ago.”  
Harry’s eyes widened, not having expected Snape to admit such a thing so readily, and so early on. Though he simply said “My mum? What was she like? Were you friends?” To Petunia, Dudley and Snape, they only saw careful excitement on the glowing face of a tiny, adorable child. However, Harry let a little of his true heartbreak trickle down to Mort.   
“…Hmmm…perhaps I was mistaken,” said Mort, obviously thinking that the cause of Harry’s distress to be the fact that one of his potential links to his dead mother may want to hurt him. “As I recall, Snape was incredibly fond of your mother. He once begged his master to spare her life…though…well, now that his master is gone, he may feel more at liberty to express his true feelings for you.”  
Harry rewarded Mort’s concession of somewhat-truth with a radiant feeling of hope. Outside of Harry’s head, Snape had answered Harry’s questions with a strained nod. Petunia asked Snape to sit, and immediately, the waiter returned to take their drink orders. As soon as their drinks were set before them, Dudley began bouncing in his seat.  
“I’d forgotten that we met you!” Dudley said, mostly to Harry though the statement was directed towards Snape. Facing his cousin, Dudley continued “When we went to get your Potion stuff, we ran into Professor Snape. He was the one who had us get more yucky stuff than your list said to get.”  
“T-Thank you, P’fessor,” Harry said, mangling the honorific a little bit, knowing it made him sound cuter than he knew he already was. Taffy sighed at him. “Drama queen” he told his Master. Harry ignored him. “Is that what you teach, then? Potions?”  
Snape nodded, his smile less forced at the question. “Indeed. I have now for just under a decade. Have you begun any of the reading, Mister Potter?”  
Harry nodded eagerly. “I got to chapter ten of the text book, but then it started referring to things that they didn’t explain very good. So, now I’m reading one of the extra potion books I bought at the book store.” Harry said this all very quickly, eyes wide and bright. Then he seemed to realize he was gushing, and stopped talking abruptly, looking down at his lap with red cheeks.  
“I’m please you seem to be enjoying the texts, Mister Potter,” said Snape. “I’m sure you will find that many of your future classmates wait until after the first lesson to even open their books at all. Harry’s next expression was a masterful impression of innocent disbelief and confusion that Mort and the humans around his bought. Taffy, simply mocked him.  
“Are you certain you don’t wish to take over the world, Master?” Death asked him. “You’re already showing signs of becoming a promising sociopath. Not to mention developing a split personality disorder.”  
“I think people who might find out I talk to two separate entities in my head, one who doesn’t know about the existence of the other, might argue that I already have, Death my old friend.” Harry returned.  
“B-but, P’fessor, it’s magic,” Harry said, as though scandalized. Then he looked thoughtful. “Is potions magic? Can people without magic use magic things to make them, or does it not make a potion if you aren’t magic?”  
Severus looked very pleased by the question, and even Mort seemed thoughtful. “Well, Mister Potter. Such theories lie in far more advanced classes then what you will take during your entire career at Lady Hogwarts. However, it has been theorized that when a potion is made, the certain sort of stirring utensil used acts as a conduit for a being’s latent magic. Latent magic being the basic, dormant magic that a wizard is unconsciously using all the time. Such as the magic that boots our immune system, making us less likely to grow sick, or the magic that allows us to ride brooms.  
To answer your question, muggles, are unable to create potions, because there is no magic in their system to react with the ingredients. How much do you know about chemistry, Mister Potter?”  
“Uhh,” Harry racked his brain. To Mort, it seemed as though he was trying to remember anything at all. Though, in actuality, he was just trying to figure out how much would be reasonable for a child his age to know. “On TV” there, that seemed like a good place to start an answer. “The man said that chemicals made other chemicals ‘react’ in certain ways. And sometimes taking things away or adding to chemicals made new chemicals!” Harry smiled proudly.  
Petunia gave him a fond smile, though Severus looked less than impressed. “More or less. But no.” Harry’s smile fell. “Though you have the basic idea of the most basic part of chemistry mostly accurate. Sort of. But yes. Think of it this way, the ingredients don’t do anything magical when mixed together on their own, they must be activated by a wizard’s latent magic. This is also why there are certain conditions to some ingredients. Such as a flower that can only be plucked during a full moon, the magic imbued by the full moon is part of what is necessary for the correct reaction. Squibs, beings with only latent magic, are able to produce passable potions. However the best potions are made by true wizards.”  
“Huh” was all that Harry could say. He had, of course, already known this. However, Mort had not expected him to and Dudley and Petunia definitely looked enthralled. Severus also seemed pleased to have such an appreciative audience for a topic he was a literal Master in. “So does the stirring utensils change what the potion does?”  
Once again, Harry was rewarded with a smile. “No, Mister Potter. It does, however, add or take away from the total quality of the potion depending on what you are making. That, however, is not going to be touched upon until third year. If you are still interested though, might I suggest the book Intermediate Elixir Supposition.”  
Harry nodded dutifully, then waited to say anything more, as the waiter had come back to take their food order. Dudley began his own round of questioning, asking about what jobs muggles could get in the wizarding world. He asked if there was anyway he could pretend to be a squib and live in the wizarding world that way. His questions made Petunia look very sad, and Severus look pitying, though Dudley didn’t notice at all.  
“Perhaps we could hire him as a meat shield when you are older,” Mort mused. “I know how to cast a spell that can make him appear as a House Elf. We can just tell anyone who sees him that he was disabled at birth and can’t use magic. It’s not common, but it’s possible for a House Elf to be born without magic. And while those that are are usually put down right away, no one would hesitate to believe that you, as a paragon of the light would spare such a creature.”  
“Put down?” Harry asked, the very picture of innocence.  
“er…down into a dungeon, where they aren’t seen.”  
“Well, that’s not very nice, Mort.”  
“…No, I suppose not.”  
As Taffy laughed at Mort, she stuck her nose out of Harry’s sleeve in order to flick her tongue out at his pasta. Severus, who had been sharing an amusing anecdote about a potions accident in his class, saw it out of the corner of his eyes and paled. He turned to Harry, and seemed to be looking for a way to nicely address the issue, which Harry found amusing. The Snape he knew wouldn’t have bothered sugar coating.   
Harry, still pretending to be innocent and oblivious, didn’t make any move to hide Taffy. Instead, he held a small chunk of meat to Taffy’s face. Taffy nosed it, but was wise enough to not eat non-mice in front of people. Mort sighed and sent Harry the impression of whacking him over the head. Harry mentally stuck his tongue out at him.  
“I hope Laffy’s okay,” Dudley said mournfully, seeing Taffy. “My book said turtle’s can live really long with out food though. I’ll just be sure to give her lots and lots when we go home.” Petunia gave her son a strained smile, then saw Taffy and rolled her eyes.  
“Harry, darling,” she said, hiding a smile. “Why did you bring Taffy?”  
“He wanted to go flying,” Harry said.   
“I did not enjoy the giant balloon basket”  
“He said he didn’t like it.”  
Severus’ mouth was gaping and said to be lost for words. Just to mess with Severus, Harry then spoke to Taffy in parseltongue. “What do you think of the P’fessor?”  
“He does not smell very nice.”  
“Don’t be rude, Taffy.”  
“Well, it’s true. And besides, he didn’t bring me any mice.”  
“What’s he saying?” Dudley asked absently around a mouthful of spaghetti. Harry giggled.  
“He’s mad he doesn’t get to have any mice here.”  
“Maybe they have some in the kitchen.”  
“For people food? I think they’d get in trouble.”  
“Here, Taffy,” Dudley offered the little snake a meat ball. Petunia sighed deeply and turned back to continue talking to Severus. Only then did she realize just how shocked Severus was to see the little snake.   
“The letter Harry got said he was allowed a pet,” she said carefully. “I bought him a cute little owl, but I was wondering if he’d be allowed to take Taffy along with him? I’m aware that snakes weren’t on the list, but he’d had him for several years now. It’s quite tame.”  
“How dare you”  
“He said ‘how dare you’.”  
“Yeah, Mummy. How dare you.”  
“I’m ferocious.”  
“He said he’s ferocious.’  
“Yeah, Mummy. Ferocious.”  
“Feed me.”  
“He said he wants food.”  
“Yeah, Mummy. Food.”  
Severus stared at the two little boys for an instant. Then he turned back to Petunia. “The three options listed are mostly suggestions for Muggleborns. While Kneazles are not listed, more than half of the girls at Hogwarts have one. Rats are also fairly common, and one of the boys in Ravenclaw has a pet bat. I’m not foreseeing it being a problem. However, Mister Potter,” Severus turned a stern eye to Harry. “I would caution you against speaking to…Taffy…in public. Talking to serpents is a trait long associated with evil, and so you would do well to hide this particular ability.”  
“’Kay” Harry said, unconcerned. “Why?”  
“A truly vile man once spoke to snakes.”  
Harry was amused as a flash of offence went through Mort, though it was quickly covered up. “Who?”  
“There is an old Taboo placed on his name. Nevertheless, I’m sure you will hear it spoken soon enough. As it is, simply know that most call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or, the Dark Lord.”  
“’Kay.” Said Harry once more, returning to his meal. It took a few awkward attempts, but eventually Petunia and Severus were able to return to a fairly easy flowing conversation. At once point, Dudley mentioned that Severus had said Lily was good at potions. Harry had frozen, looking up at Severus with hope in his eyes. And so a good portion of their time together was spent with Severus telling tales of Lily at Hogwarts, as well as what things Harry could expect to see there.   
When the meal was over, Harry found himself reluctant to say goodbye to the professor. Then that begged the question of what sort of comradery he wanted to share with this new, strange, nicer version of Severus Snape, as well has the consideration of how sweet, shy Harry would treat him.  
Harry made his mind up. As they were parting ways in the parking lot, Harry threw his arms around the Potion Master’s waist. “See you at school, P’fessor!” Harry said cheerfully.   
With an awkward pat to Harry’s shoulder, Severus said his own goodbye’s, then hurriedly stalked away. As soon as he was out of sight, there was the telltale crack of apparition. Petunia reached for Harry’s hand, and he gave it to her.  
“Just a few more weeks,” Petunia sighed.   
*****1047****  
The weeks leading up to the day Harry would depart sped faster and faster. For the first time, ever, Harry found himself feeling sad on the day that he would depart. He was worried for how Petunia would deal with Vernon, and didn’t want Dudley getting caught in the crossfire between his two parents. Harry felt bad enough to share his worry with Mort, who prompted Harry to ask Petunia for frequent updates, which his Aunt readily agreed to.  
Soon, Harry was standing with his trunk on a trolly, Hedwig balanced on top in her cage, in front the bright red train. Petunia had remembered where the barrier was from her days of dropping Lily off with her parents. All around them were families rushing by, saying tearful farewells, and older students hurrying to leave their embarrassingly crying mothers behind.   
Harry stood still, looking at the train with a novel feeling of nerves and anxiety in his belly. “Auntie…” Harry said. For a moment, he felt like the child he looked like. He was worried about them. How would they fare without him there? Would Vernon back off? Or would he be just as terrible to his Aunt? He knew Dudley wouldn’t be abused by Vernon, but Aunt Petunia had no such guarantees.   
“don’t fret, Master” said Taffy. “I will protect them. You have my word.”  
Harry held out his arms, and in and instant Petunia had scooped him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground. She kissed his cheek wetly and squeezed him to herself. “Oh, I love you so very much, darling,” she said quietly, into his ear. “I’ll miss you, so you’ll have to write me and Dudders whenever anything happens.”  
“I will Auntie,” Harry promised, feeling Mort in the back of his head feel awkwardly wistful. “I’ll tell you about all my friends, and classes, and teachers.”  
Petunia sighed and put him back down, where he was immediately accosted by Dudley, who was bawling. “I wish I could go with you!” he wailed. “If anyone gives you trouble, Haze, just bop ‘em in the nose, just like a showed you. Alright?”  
“Right,” Harry grinned, hugging his cousin back. “And if anyone is mean to you, I’ll turn ‘em into a frog.” Dudley laughed, then stepped away so that Harry could wheel his trolley over to one of the doors.   
“Need help there, mate?” asked a familiar voice.  
“Here, I’ll get that for you.” Said a similar familiar voice. Harry looked up with wide eyes at Fred and George, alive and well, grinning down at him. Their faces were round with youth and innocence. Harry felt his heart twist when he realized they would only be thirteen at that point. Barely more than babies.  
“Thank you,” Harry said shyly. “My name’s Hardwin.”  
“Awwww,” cooed Fred as he hoisted up one end of Harry’s trunk.  
“You’re a cutie,” agreed George.   
“I’m Gred,” said Fred.  
“And I’m Forge” grinned George as he helped his brother on the other end. “Follow us, Hardy”  
“Yeah, Winny, we’ll let you sit with us.”  
“Really?” Harry grinned at them.  
“I’m going to assume that these are Weasleys,” said Mort. “There is literally no chance that they mean you any harm at all. They are also purebloods, as far as I know. However, they are also very low class, and so, while it will not harm you to be friendly with them, keep in mind that they are of low status.”  
“They’re really nice to me, Mort. And they don’t even know me.”  
“Yes, well…they are better than sitting alone, I suppose. Though you could have gone to look for the Nott boy.”  
“So, Hardy,” said Fred as he shoved Harry’s trunk up into the overhead. “What’s your story?”  
“Yeah, Winny,” said George. Harry giggled, and both twins seemed very pleased with themselves. “What house do you want to be in?”  
“My…” Harry stopped to think for a moment. “My uncle Mort was a Slytherin, but my parents were both Gryffindor. I know a few people in Slytherin, too. So, one of those, I guess. What about you?”  
“Aww, noooo” whined Fred. “Hardy! Dear, cute widdle Hardy! You can’t be a Slytherin!”  
“Why?” asked Harry, as Mort started to get very annoyed with them. “My Uncle Mort said it’s the best house. And he’s really smart.”  
“Because, Winny,” said George. “We’re Gryffindor. And…well, Slytherins and Gryffindor don’t get along.”  
“Yeah, if you’re Slytherin you can’t be our minion!”  
“That’s silly,” said Harry with a frown. “If I’m a Slytherin I’ll make sure I’m extra nice to Gryffindors. And if I’m a Gryffindor I’ll be extra nice to Slytherins.”  
“You sound more like a Puff than anything, Winny, to be perfectly honest.”  
“I like you”  
“I accept you as our minion.”  
“Your minion? For what?”  
“For epic mayhem.”  
“Ultimate evil.”  
“Prankdom at its finest, Winny.”  
“Are you sure you’re not Slytherin?”  
“Oi!”


End file.
